Open Writing

Mary’s Journal

December 26th
Sarah is back with us again, having had half of Christmas eve and all of Christmas day at home. I am very pleased to see her again. What a night last night was. I shall never forget it.

We had a quiet Christmas, going to Church. There was no feeling of rejection from the others towards me. I think the worst of the problem has been faced and it is now over. We went to a party at Charles’ cousin Harry’s house. He is now a widower, and his two year old daughter Eliza, a bonny sweet girl. I only hope Mary turns out to be as amenable. I wore my favourite green velvet dress, bought for my engagement party last Christmas. It fits well again. I almost feel normal again.

Mary had many presents for her first Christmas. I gave her a soft doll and made a patchwork quilt for her bed with satin ribbon trim. She does seem to be marginally more interested in the world now. Charles gave her a collection of books by Hans Christian Anderson which have just come out. I was so annoyed at his choice.

“Why do you keep trying to think of her as normal?” I said. “You will only be disappointed. She may never read. She may never speak. She may never feed herself. We may have to have her care for the rest of our lives!” He stormed out of the house and slammed the door.

So I was left from 4 p.m. in sole charge of Mary as it was Sarah’s day off. Things went all right until about 7.30. Ella had come and feed her about 6 but she was very ill (although I think she was the worse for drink) and only gave a short feed and dealt with the baby rather roughly and left without giving the usual extra milk in a cup. When Ella left, Mary settled for a short time, and then began crying piercingly. I so much wished for Charles to return to take over from me. I put my nightgown on and prepared for sleep, hoping she would quieten. Perhaps she was fretting for food, and I had nothing to give her. I knew that Sarah would have made up some sugar and water and feed it in a bottle when there was no milk available, and thought to do that, but then Mary started crying even louder. I changed her nappy, and made her bed dry again, but she wouldn’t settle. I was beside myself with frustration. Finally, I sat down on the chair with her on my lap, undid the buttons of my nightgown, and put her to my breast, not expecting anything, but hoping for some temporary respite from the noise.

She suckled with greed, not even seeming to mind the absence of milk. She quietened, and I relaxed and suddenly realised that a strange sensation had come with the suckling. I felt as if a cord was being pulled between my breast and my womb. It was slightly painful, and slightly pleasurable. I didn’t know what to make of it. Mary relaxed in my arms, and went to sleep. I looked into her sweet face, and marvelled at her sprigs of hair which seems to be taking on the hue of mine. Her eyes, also, when I noticed them earlier, are clearly not going to be Charles bright blue, but more my green shade. She seemed to be away in dreamland, and then just as I was about to stand and put her in her cot, she had a twitch on her mouth that looked so like a smile. She was smiling in her sleep – dreaming of what?

Just as I sat there marvelling at her, I was aware that Charles had come in and was looking at us, together. His eyes were wet, “It is a miracle,” he said. “You have finally found each other.” And it was true. I suddenly had nothing but love and compassion for my little girl. All my disgust and dread and anger at her for ruining my life had drifted away. Charles said we looked like the Madonna and Child. He was overly sentimental about it, with it being Christmas day. Together we put our baby to bed, and then we went to bed too, and loved each other as we have not done for many months.

In the new year we have an appointment to see Professor Hogarth who will give Mary a thorough examination, and then we will be able to move on and help her to change or accept her as she is.

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